


Frank Goes to the ER

by rosa_himmelblau



Category: House M.D., Wiseguy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 12:03:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19463608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosa_himmelblau/pseuds/rosa_himmelblau
Summary: Frank McPike vs icy pavement leads to Frank McPike vs Dr. House.





	Frank Goes to the ER

**Author's Note:**

  * For [April_Valentine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/April_Valentine/gifts).



Frank sat on the exam table, thinking bad thoughts about Vince. Mostly about Vince; his bad thoughts extended to the icy sidewalk, the one he'd slipped and fallen on, the one he'd bruised his ribs on.

He knew that was what had happened; he'd had bruised ribs before, he didn't need to see a doctor. What he needed--ironically—was to put ice to put on his ribs. But Vince had insisted on taking him to the hospital, to be sure he hadn't broken anything. Normally Frank would have won that argument, but it was hard to yell when every deep breath felt like being impaled on a hot spit.

They hadn't taken his clothes, anyway, and the x-ray tech had only made him lose his jacket, tie, shirt, and undershirt. And his St. Michael medal, a gift from Vince. "Patron saint of cops," Vince had told him, as though Frank didn't know that. Frank pretended not to know that.

The tech moved him around like a department store dummy, telling him to take a deep breath like it was no big deal while she hurried from the room to snap pictures of his insides. Then she sent him back to the dressing room, and showed him how to get back to the exam room they'd stuck him in. He stalked past Vince, who was leafing through a copy of _Better Homes and Gardens._ Vince looked up and started to say something, but Frank kept walking. He didn't want to argue, and he wanted even less to be nice.

There were no magazines in his little cell, just blood pressure and cholesterol and breast cancer pamphlets. Frank already knew his blood pressure and cholesterol, and he was fairly certain he didn't have breast cancer, though he knew it wasn't impossible. He looked at the picture of the insides of a human body, and he read the sign that told you what you had to do to submit a claim to workman's comp, and one that explained what you had to do if your HMO was Criterion, which apparently wasn't one this hospital accepted. He looked in the drawers and the cabinets, washed his hands, then cleaned his glasses, which really needed it.

The only reason he didn't sneak out was, the only way he had to get home was a cab, which would have cost him a small fortune. And he'd have had Vince bitching at him for the next year. And his ribs hurt too much for that to seem like something he'd enjoy.

Finally the door opened, but the man who came in wasn't his doctor. In fact, Frank was pretty sure he wasn't a doctor at all. He wasn't wearing a white coat or a nametag of any kind, no stethoscope, and he looked like he hadn't shaved in a few days. He was carrying a doctor's bag, but doctors hadn't carried those since they stopped making house calls. Why would they, when everything they needed was right there in the clinic?

"Who are you?" Frank asked.

"I'm a doctor," the man said, setting his bag on the table.

"You're not the doctor I saw before."

"Didn't say I was **your** doctor." He opened the bag and took out a very small TV, which he set on the counter and plugged in. In a moment the unmistakable strains of the theme song to _Invitation to Love_ were playing in the exam room. Frank recognized it because Vince had watched it during his time recuperating and Frank had been subjected to it when he stayed with Vince.

Which didn't explain why a guy claiming to be a doctor had brought a tiny television into his exam room and was now sitting next to him on the exam table, eating chocolate-covered peanuts and watching a soap opera.

"What are you doing?" Frank asked, which didn't get him an answer, but the guy offered him some peanuts, which Frank declined. "Look, sport, I want to know what's going on here." He was getting very frustrated, and if he could have taken a deep breath, he would have yelled at this guy.

That was when his real doctor came in, the one who looked like he'd cut algebra, swiped his father's white coat, and was pretending to be a doctor. But at least he had a white coat, a stethoscope, and a nametag that told Frank his last name was Wilson. He was also carrying what Frank assumed were his x-rays.

"What are you doing in here?" Dr. Wilson asked, and Frank started to answer that they'd sent him in here to wait, but he realized Dr. Wilson wasn't talking to him.

"I'm examining this patient," the other man lied. "What are **you** doing in here?"

"You're examining my patient?" Dr. Wilson asked. "House, you won't even examine your own patients, why would you want to—" Then something on the TV caught his attention. "I thought Johnny got his arm cut off in a fight with a pirate. Is that supposed to be a prosthetic?"

"No, that's his new arm. The doctors at his father's company grew it in the lab and attached it for him."

Frank stared at the TV screen. He remembered when Johnny lost his arm. Since when could they grow new arms for people?

"Of course," Dr. Wilson said, sounding resigned. "Now, what are you doing with my patient?"

"What makes him your patient?" House challenged.

"I did the initial exam, I sent him down for x-rays, I know the man's name." Dr. Wilson quickly hid the x-rays behind his back. "And I have his x-rays."

Frank couldn't figure out why his doctor would hide his x-rays; these two were making him nervous about what kind of medical care he was getting, even if neither of them was going to do anything more than give him a prescription he wouldn't fill.

"OK, so maybe he **was** your patient," House conceded, "but Cuddy thought he was diagnostically too complicated for you, so she sent me in to help."

"I don't need two doctors for something I diagnosed myself," Frank said, starting to get off the table.

"You stay out of this," House said.

"He's not here to diagnose you," Dr. Wilson assured Frank. "He's here to watch his soap opera."

"Which you keep talking through," House complained. "Can't you do this someplace else?"

"He probably didn't even know you were in here," Dr. Wilson continued.

Clearly this was something between the two doctors, and Frank had better things to do than involve himself in their problems. He got off the table and had grabbed his coat when the door opened and Vinnie stuck his head in. "You OK, Frank?"

"Vince, it's like I told you, I have a couple of bruised ribs," Frank said at the same time the two doctors said, "He has some bruised ribs."

Everyone looked at House. "How did you know that?" Dr. Wilson asked.

"He's holding his side like it hurts, he's breathing shallowly, you took x-rays, but you're not acting like it's an emergency."

Wilson sighed in defeat. "Mr. McPike, I've written you a prescription for Vicodan," he told Frank, offering him a slip of paper.

Before Frank could say he wasn't interested in drugs, Vinnie grabbed the paper and stuck it in his pocket. "I'll make sure he takes it."

"That's what you think," Frank muttered.

"You should also get an ice pack while you're at the drug store," Dr. Wilson said.

Frank gave Vince a look, but Vince was preoccupied by the TV. "Is that Johnny? How did he get his arm back?"

"His dad grew it in a lab," House said. He held out his peanuts, and Vince took a handful, sat down next to him on the exam table.

"Why don't I get you a cold pack?" Dr. Wilson said to Frank.

"Thank you," Frank said. "Vince?"

"Be there in a minute, Frank," Vince said, distractedly.

"Give me that prescription, I'll fill it here," Frank said.

Vince dug it out of his pocket and handed it over, never taking his eyes off the TV. Frank followed Dr. Wilson out of the exam room.

"So, what, Framingham Inc.'s started doing cloning?" Vince was asking House.

"Yeah, that's how Henry got a twin brother," House said.

Frank tore up his prescription. "No offense, but I hate this stuff," he said.

"That's rather refreshing," Dr. Wilson said.

"Is there a phone around here I can use to call a cab?" Frank asked.

Dr. Wilson glanced back at the exam room. "Let me drive you," he said. "I somehow feel responsible for all this."

"Not all of it," Frank assured him, but he let the doctor drive him home anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> aprilvalentine asked for this one.


End file.
